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Personal Narrative-Poudre For The River In Colorado

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Today will be different. Morning rain softens, and hope rises. I must capture the entire hazy brown form before it fades. Arms around me tighten, tease, but I break free. This is for him. He hands me a mug, and I turn away. He said the essay should be about her. Her name is Poudre, for the river in Colorado where we first met. The name refers to a cache of gunpowder hidden along its banks, but to us it just means clear water over stone. Each day begins with a ritual: She shakes her head and jingles her collar as I reach for the railing. Descending, I hear a clicking little dance below. Her breath is heavy and I open the front door. She leaps out into the garden, I tell her to stay with me today, but she is already gone. Out of sight, she is galloping down the lane. She is our heart: blood up, out of hand, out ahead. I walk on slowly, looking for the first pure light of morning. She waits for me there, and I check on the flowers. Soon, I tell her it is time to go. She turns, picks up the paper, and trots slowly now, back towards the house. I smile and sigh and follow her back. Through the front door, she heads straight for his waiting feet. She plops the paper down proudly and turns to me. Now it is time for breakfast. …show more content…

Jeff stepped out of the car doubtfully on that first day. The face was plain, green, and colonial, and the garage held only one car. This was hardly the house of his dreams. The boys, however, did not hesitate. Slamming doors, they ran across the yard and began playing among the six stately columns of a giant poplar tree. Before long, weekends and vacations were spent cutting limbs and vines and pulling holly stumps. Now there is an endless play of light and shade. The breeze lifts, leaves dance, treetops sway, and I can

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